(no subject)
Today is one of those days…
So many homosexuals and lesbians are celebrating the right to marry in New York State, and I’m happy for them, but I’m feeling alone today. Not self piteously alone, but alone nonetheless. I’m incredibly happy for them and the country in general in taking this step forward in minority rights, but there’s no cake for me. Maybe that’s what it is: lack of cake generally.
Speaking of cake, I think I’m getting fatter. It makes sense: I sit in my apartment all day watching television and blithely playing with the dog, taking her for two walks of about 45 minutes each. I don’t eat real meals but a constant binge every three to four hours. Thank Margaret scales don’t actually measure my weight cuz if they did, I’d have to throw mine out the window.
Most of what I’m feeling stems directly from my current attempt at curbing my happy pill consumption. Those of you not afflicted with addictive behavioral patterns are really missing out on a special sort of hell. Here are some of the symptoms I experience when my body wants another happy pill: shortness of breath, nausea, cramps, diarrhea, constant watery eyes, constant yawning, and involuntary muscle movement, like rocking my legs back and forth or bouncing on my toes. Emotionally, I feel good about my conscience choice to get off the stuff, but the real lack of that happy, euphoric high that accompanies a pill echoes in its absence. I’m not going cold turkey. But the body wants a pill every three to four hours and I’m only giving it one every six hours. And I’m giving it 15 mgs when it really wants 30 mgs. I caved last night at bedtime and took 30 mgs just so I could sleep but hated myself this morning when only three hours after I took my morning dose, I went into physical detox craving another. I lasted another hour before I caved and took another pill. It was that last pill that has calmed me enough to sit down and actually write an entry. Without it, there’s nothing printable I have to say. And while a stronger man might be able to push through it and capture the horror of the moment, I’ve documented years of just what a weak character I am, so no one should be terribly surprised. Even as I type right now, my legs beneath me are bouncing up and down at a mile a minute.
Both Noomie and his gal pal have left for an extended weekend and neither made even a passing reference to the dog. Noomie will be home on Wednesday, but I have no idea when the girl will return. It’s remarkable to me how incredibly irresponsible that is. I’m incredibly tempted to take the dog with me when I head to Ohio at the end of August but the sad truth is I don’t really want her, either. Yes, I’ve fallen in love with her, but not so much that I want the responsibility of owning her. Yet the thought of what her life will be when I’m not here is nearly too much to bear. How did they manage before I came into the picture? The dog was fine when I met her so I’m assuming she’ll be fine when I’m gone. That’s the depressing secret of all life here on earth: it goes on regardless of your participation in it. If not me, who?
Someone. I guarantee it.
Ohio was very, very good. I had a big fight with Sean who was being Sean, but I think we came to an understanding. I have no idea how it will ultimately work out, but I’m confident in our ability to make it work as well as it can. Given that the house he’s living in is and has been on the market for quite some time, it will sell at some point and we will have to move, but that’s a hurdle for another race. I’m focused on this one at the moment and it’s taking most of my energy. The roommate has said he intends to stay in the apartment and would like me to leave my furniture. This is very good news as it means I won’t have to go to extraordinary measures to get rid of it. Most of it is the last roommate’s stuff anyway, and I really desperately didn’t want it in the first place. The thought that it will become someone else’s problem actually makes me happy: as though for the first time in a while, I got the better end of the stick. I’m sure that’s an overstatement, but it’s how I feel today.
I did have the MRI in Ohio. Would you believe that insurance covered it? It still cost me just under $300, but compared to the $1200 they wanted here in Manhattan, it was quite the savings. I have to pay the Cobra premiums which will set me back some $2000 this month, but what’s money if you don’t spend it? I’ve not yet gotten the results of the MRI yet, so there’s no word on whether I have a brain tumor or not. But I’m expecting a letter this week and they’re mailing me a CD of the actual scan so I can take it to Dr. Bobby and look at it with him. I’m still betting I don’t have a tumor and all this will ultimately mean I can start taking the testosterone injections and perhaps start feeling a little manly and normal again. It sucks not wanting to have sex. I miss that part of my life.
Special thanks and shout out to those of you who’ve gone to extra lengths to check in on me during this time, including Bob, Lyle, Kristen and a few others. I’m sorry I’ve not been better motivated to keep everyone up to date, but my head is a bit hit and miss at the moment-this is the best I can muster. The invitation for hanging in NYC is still open for the next weeks while I wind down my time here. I should like to plan a specific event to say goodbye to friends and the city but the likelihood is I’ll end my New York tenure more with a whimper than a bang.
Unless of course that testosterone kicks in... Sending love.
So many homosexuals and lesbians are celebrating the right to marry in New York State, and I’m happy for them, but I’m feeling alone today. Not self piteously alone, but alone nonetheless. I’m incredibly happy for them and the country in general in taking this step forward in minority rights, but there’s no cake for me. Maybe that’s what it is: lack of cake generally.
Speaking of cake, I think I’m getting fatter. It makes sense: I sit in my apartment all day watching television and blithely playing with the dog, taking her for two walks of about 45 minutes each. I don’t eat real meals but a constant binge every three to four hours. Thank Margaret scales don’t actually measure my weight cuz if they did, I’d have to throw mine out the window.
Most of what I’m feeling stems directly from my current attempt at curbing my happy pill consumption. Those of you not afflicted with addictive behavioral patterns are really missing out on a special sort of hell. Here are some of the symptoms I experience when my body wants another happy pill: shortness of breath, nausea, cramps, diarrhea, constant watery eyes, constant yawning, and involuntary muscle movement, like rocking my legs back and forth or bouncing on my toes. Emotionally, I feel good about my conscience choice to get off the stuff, but the real lack of that happy, euphoric high that accompanies a pill echoes in its absence. I’m not going cold turkey. But the body wants a pill every three to four hours and I’m only giving it one every six hours. And I’m giving it 15 mgs when it really wants 30 mgs. I caved last night at bedtime and took 30 mgs just so I could sleep but hated myself this morning when only three hours after I took my morning dose, I went into physical detox craving another. I lasted another hour before I caved and took another pill. It was that last pill that has calmed me enough to sit down and actually write an entry. Without it, there’s nothing printable I have to say. And while a stronger man might be able to push through it and capture the horror of the moment, I’ve documented years of just what a weak character I am, so no one should be terribly surprised. Even as I type right now, my legs beneath me are bouncing up and down at a mile a minute.
Both Noomie and his gal pal have left for an extended weekend and neither made even a passing reference to the dog. Noomie will be home on Wednesday, but I have no idea when the girl will return. It’s remarkable to me how incredibly irresponsible that is. I’m incredibly tempted to take the dog with me when I head to Ohio at the end of August but the sad truth is I don’t really want her, either. Yes, I’ve fallen in love with her, but not so much that I want the responsibility of owning her. Yet the thought of what her life will be when I’m not here is nearly too much to bear. How did they manage before I came into the picture? The dog was fine when I met her so I’m assuming she’ll be fine when I’m gone. That’s the depressing secret of all life here on earth: it goes on regardless of your participation in it. If not me, who?
Someone. I guarantee it.
Ohio was very, very good. I had a big fight with Sean who was being Sean, but I think we came to an understanding. I have no idea how it will ultimately work out, but I’m confident in our ability to make it work as well as it can. Given that the house he’s living in is and has been on the market for quite some time, it will sell at some point and we will have to move, but that’s a hurdle for another race. I’m focused on this one at the moment and it’s taking most of my energy. The roommate has said he intends to stay in the apartment and would like me to leave my furniture. This is very good news as it means I won’t have to go to extraordinary measures to get rid of it. Most of it is the last roommate’s stuff anyway, and I really desperately didn’t want it in the first place. The thought that it will become someone else’s problem actually makes me happy: as though for the first time in a while, I got the better end of the stick. I’m sure that’s an overstatement, but it’s how I feel today.
I did have the MRI in Ohio. Would you believe that insurance covered it? It still cost me just under $300, but compared to the $1200 they wanted here in Manhattan, it was quite the savings. I have to pay the Cobra premiums which will set me back some $2000 this month, but what’s money if you don’t spend it? I’ve not yet gotten the results of the MRI yet, so there’s no word on whether I have a brain tumor or not. But I’m expecting a letter this week and they’re mailing me a CD of the actual scan so I can take it to Dr. Bobby and look at it with him. I’m still betting I don’t have a tumor and all this will ultimately mean I can start taking the testosterone injections and perhaps start feeling a little manly and normal again. It sucks not wanting to have sex. I miss that part of my life.
Special thanks and shout out to those of you who’ve gone to extra lengths to check in on me during this time, including Bob, Lyle, Kristen and a few others. I’m sorry I’ve not been better motivated to keep everyone up to date, but my head is a bit hit and miss at the moment-this is the best I can muster. The invitation for hanging in NYC is still open for the next weeks while I wind down my time here. I should like to plan a specific event to say goodbye to friends and the city but the likelihood is I’ll end my New York tenure more with a whimper than a bang.
Unless of course that testosterone kicks in... Sending love.